Morning Star
by TheNewIdea
Summary: "It really is a gripping tale; beloved by all who read it. Heroes of various backgrounds and races striving for the same end; an order of knights and prophets, chosen to guide them on their quest to seek the ultimate answer to the ultimate question- what is the purpose of life?" And so it was that the ramblings of a drunk, began the adventure of a lifetime.
1. Of Fathers and Their Sons

Chapter One: Of Fathers and Their Sons

Opening his eyes, giving up on any hope of sleep, Garrus sat up in his bed and looked about the captain's cabin. The gentle humming of the engine, what was once a comforting sound that brought on pleasant dreams of the future and the promise of a better life, now served as a haunting reminder of what used to be but no longer remained. Garrus had not gotten a decent night's sleep in three months. If he did manage to will himself to sleep the dreams were always the same, inhabited by the ghosts and memories of his past. Most of them were of Sidonis and his team on Omega; their faces forever etched in his mind, their words, both of encouragement and those that were spoken before death recorded on an endless, torturous loop.

"How long will this go on?" Garrus said, "What more must I do? Hasn't there been enough suffering?"

These questions went unanswered for Garrus was alone, however in his mind he imagined that he had received a response and so acted accordingly and rose from bed. As he rose he could not help but notice the bedside table, which had a single picture one of Commander Shepard, during one of the rare quiet moments that she had in her life. It was simple in composition, Shepard taking up the standard two-thirds of the frame, the rest of it devoted to the observation window on the crew deck as it looked out onto one of the many nebulas that the Normandy occasionally passed through. It was the only picture that he had of her, for it was taken shortly after their courtship, and so, Garrus assumed that there would be plenty of time for more. Had he only known of the full implications of the war, and what it would ultimately mean in terms of his own life, he would have prepared his heart. He remembered the words that he had spoken shortly before she went off into the abyss and how little and small they had seemed in the grand scheme of things. If Garrus were to turn back time and change nothing but the words that were spoken, he would have said something more potent, something to give her strength in her final moments; maybe then, his heart would have an easier time of processing its own grief.

Garrus slowly turned to the laughably small closet that laid in the corner of the room and proceeded to dress himself. While this was going on George Bizet's "Habanera" his Carmen opera, played over the ship's loudspeaker curiosity of EDI, who had taken it upon herself, with some slight encouragement from Joker. Groaning, for he was not in the right state of mind to appreciate such things, let alone take note of the humorous qualities of the piece, Garrus turned upwards towards the ceiling as he buttoned his shirt.

"EDI" Garrus griped, venting his emotions into anger, "Cut that racket, it's too early!"

EDI laughed, for it was just like Garrus to shutdown anything that was remotely fun, the turian being a terrible morning person and thus, not one for conversation or jokes so early in the morning. Had it been late afternoon, or perhaps just before bed it would have been different, but now with his dreams still fresh in his mind and his heart heavy, Garrus was particularly hostile.

"Mandatory crew revival at this time is essential for maximum efficiency Garrus" EDI returned suddenly, her voice crackling over the loudspeaker, which was in need of minor repair, "Besides, we've almost reached the Citadel."

Garrus nodded as he finished his business, after which he made his way to his desk and began making notes.

"Patch me in to Samantha" Garrus instructed, still talking to EDI "There are some things that we need to discuss."

EDI immediately cut Bizet and patched into Samantha Traynor downstairs. There was silence for several seconds, Garrus assumed it was because Traynor was still asleep, for it was almost five in the morning, and the day did not technically begin for another hour; still, if only to avoid the deafening effect of the ship and the resurfacing of semi-repressed memories Garrus began to speak, delving into his weekly psychological session.

"Sometimes there are days when I wish I would have stayed in C-Sec. I probably could have dealt with the bureaucracy had I held back on the justice high horse and stayed the course. Hell, by now I could've had Captain Bailey's job, with all the benefits and kickbacks. It would have been a good life, even if it was an unfulfilling one. Maybe I would have settled down after a couple of years and live off of the meager royalties that I received. I would have eventually died in my sleep peacefully, surrounded by the few friends I manage to keep and the family I had grown. It would have been honorable, in keeping with tradition."

Several more seconds of silence followed, causing Garrus to sigh in pain, after which he turned his attention back to EDI.

"EDI turn on the Fate" Garrus instructed, "Broadcast it to the whole crew. Might as well make an early start of it."

EDI said nothing and only did as she was told and began broadcasting the 1st Movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 "Fate" in C Minor over the loudspeaker as loud as it would go and not cause permanent hearing loss. Garrus meanwhile, stood from his desk and made his way into the elevator, descending down into the command center. Two minutes later he arrived, when the elevator doors opened he was met with Traynor, Dr. Liara T'Soni, and Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams, his executive officer. All of them had the face of what Garrus could only describe as morning hatred, the kind of hatred that comes with being awoken too early for something that none of them necessarily wanted to do but were required to do under circumstance.

"Status report" Garrus began, specifically to Traynor, who had been promoted from secretary to senior communications officer, which was just another word that Garrus liked to use in place of secretary, in order to fit her new quarters, an office space on the starboard side of the ship.

"We should be arriving at the Citadel shortly sir" Traynor said, yawning a bit, as she took the notes from her relief, the night officer retiring to bed, "No major incidents to report. You do have some private messages on your terminal, but those can wait until we dock."

Garrus nodded and turned his attention to Ashley.

"Did you remember to place in that requisition order?" he asked, "We need those parts if we're going to keep the Normandy running like this. And what about those new armor chest-plates? Can't go fighting insurrectionists if we don't get our armor repaired."

Ashley, who like Garrus was not much of a morning person, sighed and gestured towards the elevator door, motioning for the turian to follow. Garrus, not really in the mood for personal one-on-one confrontations of any serious nature, rolled his eyes and begrudgingly made his way over, if only to appease her and not look like a total asshole.

"What is it?" Garrus pried, "Anything you can say to me you can say to them, you know that. We have an open floor policy now."

Ashley shook her head and casually rolled her eyes, for if it was one thing she hated more than being woken up early with Beethoven it was being woken up early with Beethoven for no particular reason. If Garrus had wanted a status report he could have easily looked into the ship's log and found it in seconds, if he had wanted a weapons check or to issue an armor repair, he could have done so from the comfort of his room without waking the whole crew.

"Damn your open floor policy Garrus" Ashley declared, "We've been fighting insurrectionists for months now. We've searched practically every corner of the galaxy and we have little to show for it."

Garrus laughed and nodded in full agreement, for that only meant that they were doing their jobs; as if their presence alone had quelled any insurrectionist sympathy that had developed since the conclusion of the invasion. He had heard stories, most from the Terminus Systems, which had always been beacons of the dissolute and deplorable, that Council support had dwindled significantly there; all of the military strength being sequestered to the centralized zones of the galaxy, the small pockets of civilization serving no real chance of survival with only the ragtag mercenaries and militia to hold off the attack. It was a sad state of affairs, especially as far as Omega was concerned, Cerberus controlling most of that area for the few months that the invasion lasted, but it was simply the way things were. Garrus wanted to open his heart to them, but he knew that without Council support meaningful action was nigh-on impossible. The best thing that they could do, that anyone could do, was live life in the ways they knew how, and that meant keeping as much peace as would be allowed.

"The galaxy is still healing Williams" Garrus exclaimed, "We cannot allow people to ransack homes and break away from Council control, no matter what their current feelings. We need to work together- now more than ever- if things are ever going to be the way they were."

Ashley folded her arms and shook her head, for that was exactly the kind of thing that Shepard would say, only with a little more grace. She found it interesting that Shepard's mannerisms, particularly her sense of idealism and slight naivety in terms of her humanism, had rubbed off onto Garrus. It would have been humbling, had it not been for the fact that Shepard was dead; her memory and her life, still fresh in the minds of those who knew her best.

"You took that straight from the Commander's mouth didn't you?" Ashley said, laughing a bit, if only because she was being reminiscent, "No way you came up with that one on your own."

Garrus rolled his eyes and turned towards the galaxy map, partially insulted despite understanding Ashley's mindset completely, for he had similar thoughts.

"I have been known to write my own material Ashley" Garrus returned, joking, "But that one- might as well have been blatant plagiarism."

What followed could only be described as an awkward silence in which no party, neither Ashley or Garrus, nor Traynor or Liara- the former having gone back to her duties at her terminal, just shy of the galaxy map, which she still maintained despite having an on-site office and the latter still waiting to be addressed formerly- said a single word in favor of the personal company of their own thoughts. The longer the silence lasted the more time it allotted Garrus to dwell on his inner demons, particularly his flaws and idiosyncrasies, as his mind, and more importantly his soul, were reduced to nothing. It was during times of silence and self-pity when Garrus turned to his father, for although historically they were not particularly close, especially when it came to Garrus' departure from C-Sec, they were still family, and as a result, confided in each other frequently.

Garrus remembered during the initial invasion of Palaven, how rushed and hurried everything had been, and how the minutes, which never seemed to be long enough, felt like hours; how three words turned into thirty as broken static and poor connections became the worst kind of deterrent accompanied by torturous sounds possessing the ability to destroy everything that made Garrus' heart. He thought about how, even during such a strenuous time, his father became something that he never deemed possible: he became present. Garrus' father listened, he listened to his son talk about the Reapers and the threat they posed, about Cerberus and their questionable allegiances, and about his time on the Normandy. There was nothing that was left out, no details were spared, save for one- Garrus' personal relationship with the Commander.

"It's funny" Garrus exclaimed, allowing his inner thoughts to be heard, if only for them to be judged, "I never told him about us- Shepard and me. I guess I thought that there would be plenty of time."

Garrus' breaking of the silence, abrupt as it was, could not really do the situation any kind of justice; for no one would deny that they all still felt the pain of the loss of Commander Shepard, albeit in different degrees and while they each had their own thoughts to air they dared to speak them, for it was clear that Garrus trumped them all. Liara, who never had any reason to doubt anything that Garrus did, believing him to be infallible when it came to good intentions, smiled and steeled her heart, in her head, holding on to the idea that by healing Garrus she in turn would also be healed.

"I'm sure you had your reasons Garrus" Liara declared, "And I'm sure that he would have approved."

Garrus laughed, as if the very idea was an insult; which it was, given the subject. Garrus' father, who had never been supportive of anything that his son did, would have scowled at the idea of Garrus courting a human, regardless of rank or position; he would have been happier if Garrus had decided on a krogan, the long arch-rival, than humans. Garrus knew this, and knew it with such a remembrance that it was an impossible thing to forget about his father, a defining feature of his character. There would be no point in convincing him otherwise, for if there was one thing that ran deep into the Vakarian family line it was tradition.

"You don't know him like I do" Garrus returned, "That man's body is as cold and unfeeling as Noveria."

It was at this moment that EDI appeared from the cockpit, her stride confident and with a certain, almost unnatural energy that made everyone around her envious; definitely a morning person. Garrus, slightly concerned by her approach, if only because he was getting a little uncomfortable being surrounded by women, wishing for once for a change of scenery, leaned nonchalantly on the galaxy map railing and casually looked up at the ceiling.

"Whatever it is can it wait?" Garrus said berating, wanting nothing to do with EDI, "We're kind of in the middle of something."

"You can feel bad about yourself later Garrus" EDI quipped, "Right now you need to get down to the lounge, Dar and Lokann want to speak with you."

Garrus nodded silently, in his head thankful that he been given a reprieve, if only to give himself more time to compose more properly.

"Did they say what they wanted?" Garrus asked, a hint of worry in his voice, for most of his conversations with Dar and Lokann, a volus and salarian respectively, ended in disaster, mostly on the part of Dar, who had been assigned to the Normandy as a replacement for Tali'Zorah. As for Lokann, whom Garrus had met during his time on Omega, he was the ship's bartender, one of the many additions and benefits of being the saviors of the entire galaxy; a welcome addition to the crew, Lokann, as well as the added benefit of being a non-licensed confidant came with the bonus of an extensive encyclopedia of various civilizations- a useful skill when traveling the galaxy on missions of peace.

"They weren't specific" EDI admitted, "Only that your presence was of great importance."

Garrus nodded once more, for this could mean several things- one, Lokann was open for business and serving drinks, and Dar, who was usually early for such things, was already there and wanting to talk of times; or, two, that Lokann had found something of significant interest in his research. If history had anything to prove, it was a little bit of both.

"That's fine" Garrus returned hurriedly, "Tell them I'm on my way; and if you see Salivan, tell him that he needs to either rise early like the rest of us or find himself on the nearest desert planet."

Entering the elevator Garrus smiled and gave a gentle wave to them all, a universal signal that he frequently used since the war to mean that all further business would be conducted at a later time. He had once heard the Commander tell him that when it came to humans there were only two rules to remember when it came to communicating with them: one, they respond to universal hand gestures frequently, and two, never tell them the odds. The second one stuck with him the most, if only because Shepard was the living definition of the term; and not just when it came to her military career. It was an amazing thing, Garrus thought, that they had stayed together for as long as they did, almost as if an invisible hand was guiding them. Garrus, being spiritual to a certain degree, was not a big believer in fate, despite being an avid supporter of happy coincidences. Whether or not his relationship with Commander Shepard was a coincidence or not was something that he was not willing to discuss, if only because it did not matter as to the circumstances of their union; the fact remained- he was with the Commander, and he was better for it.

"I don't know if you can hear me" Garrus whispered, in a way talking to himself, but on a deeper level talking to Shepard, "But if you can, save me a seat at the bar."

Garrus did not know why he maintained that the spirit world was a bar; maybe it was because it was one of the few places in which troubles disappeared for a while, or maybe because on the hard days it could be a literal heaven. In any case, for a moment, this interpretation troubled him, not because it was a bar but because he could not think of anything better. He had heard some people speak of golden streets and green fields; mostly humans but a few salarians, and one in particular who fancied the beach, but Garrus had little faith in such imaginings; for Garrus understood only what he knew, and what he knew was what the inside of a bar looked like. Perhaps, he reasoned, that were he able to let go, he would be able to have an afterlife of green and gold; but then such a thing was impossible by design, for letting go was an impossible task, one that required a heart that was fixed and full, not broken and empty.

Exiting the elevator and hanging a right towards the lounge Garrus casually passed the crew quarters. Peering in, he could see Salivan, a turian, and Abel, a krogan, rise from their beds as they prepared for the day. Salivan was a former C-Sec officer, who like Garrus went rogue after a few years; his past he kept guarded, only revealing small pockets of information on rare occasions, but still Garrus trusted him, if only because of the word of Primarch Adrien Victus, who claimed that Salivan was the best pure biotic of his kind. Abel, like most krogan, was interested in the art of war, but unlike most krogan, had taken an oath of pacifism, his interest in warfare not extending beyond the creation and distribution of weapons. In addition to his smith-work, Abel was also a capable medic, and so, unless absolutely required on the field or per Garrus' request, he remained on the Normandy, in order to access the fully stocked med bay and tend to the wounded. It was an unusual arrangement at first, especially if history had anything to say about it, that the turian and krogan were in the same living compartment, but somehow they made it work. The official story they always gave was a lack of space- this was a lie, and like all lies that hid nuggets of truth, it was much more simple than the reality of the situation. Under the assumption that they would be forced to work together every single day, the choice of such an arrangement was entirely their own; all that was required was three hours of sparring for a week, in order to sort out as much of their differences as possible. Garrus, who held an open recruiting policy, following Shepard's example, saw no reason to argue over the decision, and so Salivan and Abel emerged from the same room.

"Good morning gentlemen" Garrus said as he walked past, "Did you guys miss the wake-up call or were you too busy sleeping?"

Salivan huffed and rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was being accused not even five minutes after waking up; it was an insult to his character, as well as Abel's, who expressed his annoyance on much more vocal terms.

"For your information we weren't sleeping" Abel declared, his voice always loud and always half threatening, "We were compromising, only managed to get a few hours in."

Garrus raising his eyebrows curiously, for he always had trouble understanding Abel, the krogan often using words when he often meant the complete opposite. In this case, it was entirely the case, for they had been arguing not compromising, for the past four hours, about the relevancy of the Normandy and its current peacekeeping mission; Salivan making the point that since the mission had begun all that had been done was the quelling of insurrection against the Council, and that as a result, the peacekeeping aspect of their cause was a front as the Council used the influence and fame of the Normandy as an extension of their hand, a more extreme, and heavily psychological version, of the Spectre program. Abel however, took the side of practicality, stating that if such a thing were true that Garrus would never agree to it; since the Normandy held no true allegiance, the taking down of insurrectionists was an action of peace, given that most of them were violent acts against innocent people recovering from the devastation of the war.

"What was it this time?" Garrus asked, trying to hide his annoyance, in no mood to negotiate an understanding between the two of them, "If this is about the rations again I told you, everyone gets their fair portions equivalent to their daily caloric intake."

Salivan laughed and shook his head, for it was nothing as trite as that, especially considering that that matter was already settled last week; with Abel, as he often did, winning it by a margin of possessing a generally positive attitude, a rare trait.

"Please give us some credit Vakarian" Salivan exclaimed, trying to redeem, "We would never stoop to such lows again; we gave you your word on that."

Garrus nodded, slightly relieved that it wasn't something stupid, and that it might actually be of critical importance.

"What are we doing here?" Salivan continued, moving forward, his curiosity peaking, "You claim that we're on a peace mission yet here we are fighting insurrectionists. If we're on orders from the Council that's fine, as long as you're upfront about it."

Abel glanced towards Salivan, slightly nervous, for such accusations were usually followed with brawls, which had been the beginning of every war that he had heard about; if the punches started flying and no one saw the reason as to why they began and questioned the motives behind it than war was inevitable.

"Don't start Salivan" Abel said, standing in for Garrus, at the same time moving towards his commanding officer, "If we were working for the Council Garrus would have told us. There's no conspiracy, just your paranoia."

Salivan shook his head pitifully, laughing to himself at Abel's unnatural faith in Garrus; one of the many things about the krogan that he never fully understood. To him, such loyalty was a sign of ignorance, something that he had seen enough of in C-Sec, and was one of the many reasons why he left the Citadel in the first place.

"A bit of healthy paranoia saved my life more than once" Salivan declared as he took his leave, heading for the mess hall, hoping for a scrape of breakfast, "If you had any brains at all you'd be scared from time to time too."

Garrus emitted a sharp whistle and turned around, causing Salivan to instinctively stand at attention, hating himself for it, Garrus having struck one of Salivan's mnemonic personality quirks, a result of an early OCD diagnosis. Garrus did not have much cause to use such things against Salivan, or anyone for that matter, without good reason; and if it was two things that the turian absolutely hated aboard his ship it was conspiracy theorists and insubordination. Giving him the hardest stare that he deemed appropriate, Garrus snapped his fingers, bringing Salivan almost within arms distance, and began his piece.

"Let me set the record straight for you by telling you- again- what it is that we do here. When the war ended there were millions of people across the galaxy left with nowhere to go; they were forced to return to their rubble filled worlds and homes if they had that much left at all! I don't know where you came from, if you were a Citadel kid, if you grew up on Palaven or if you were just some guy from a hick colony on the fringes of space but you became an officer at C-Sec for one reason and one reason only: You wanted to protect the less fortunate and a make a difference-"

Salivan, who took this verbal abuse with all the courage he could muster, remained completely still. He wanted to call Garrus out, for he was not born on the Citadel nor was he from a colony; instead coming from the center of Palaven and that he became an officer not for the righteous and noble reason, as in part as Garrus had done, but for the sole reason of pleasing his father, his family like most in turian society coming from a long of military careers and politicians. Salivan did not say any of this, for he wanted to let Garrus finish, if only to see there was a point to his lecture, and then, when the opportune moment arose, crush the point with blunt realism.

"That's what we're doing" Garrus continued, "Part of that job was fighting insurrectionists."

Abel, who noticed Garrus' sudden use of the past tense, could only deduce that its usage meant that their insurrection suppression had ceased and that presently, they were returning to the Citadel to give the news of their success, resupply, and find a new worthy cause worth pursuing.

"When did we stop fighting the insurrections?" Abel queried, mostly for the benefit of Salivan, who remained as stiff as a board.

Garrus sighed and bade Salivan to rest, at the same time non-verbally forgiving him for his harshness, letting his eyes speak for themselves, and shook his head. He could not remember the last time they had officially ceased their campaign, if it had been weeks or if it was only in the last few days; for it made little difference. The only thing that mattered was that they would be at the Citadel within the hour, and that thought was a comforting one.

"We received word from the Council that our operation had done its purpose and to report back with any findings that we had. Given the political delicacy of the situation, it seemed only fair to keep them in the loop. But make no mistake, either of you, the only colors we fly are our own."

Salivan gave a hard salute and quickly made his exit, sulking to himself and ashamed that he had been beaten into submission through intimidation. Abel smiled and laughed to himself, knowing the turian's true thoughts and what they represented.

"Don't worry about him sir" Abel said as he slapped Garrus gingerly on the back, as was customary between the two of them, "He's just got a chip on his shoulder because he can't fight like a real turian."

Garrus, who returned the gesture, looked back in the direction that Salivan had gone and instantly began to pity him without knowing the reason as to why; for he knew so little about him that the feeling was involuntary and unnatural as if it was transferred from Abel, who actually did harbor such feelings, to himself without any knowledge of it coming from either of them.

"Why is that?" Garrus returned, "Don't tell me it's because he's a biotic."

Abel nodded, seeing no reason to deny what Garrus had spoken to be true.

"That's the way of it" Abel explained, "You should ask him why he left C-Sec sometime. He'll say it was because of the bureaucracy and the red tape, but one glance in his eyes tells you otherwise. Salivan; he was a troubled kid at one point, no doubt about it."

It was moments such as these when Garrus was glad that he made decisions such as housing arrangements, for it not only served a practical purpose and saved space but also bolstered a sense of comradery among the crew, developing into an almost symbiotic relationship. In the case of Abel and Salivan, it was slightly different, on account of Abel's pacifism, which Garrus argued only made the relationship that much more potent, for it meant that Salivan would do his best to stay alive and Abel in turn would his best to make sure that Salivan stayed that way. It wasn't a fool proof idea, this much Garrus knew, but it was an idea that when it worked, it worked incredibly well.

"Why lie?" Garrus pried, as actual concern entered his voice, "He has nothing to hide and nothing to prove. That only leaves emulation, and if he is trying to emulate someone, who?"

Abel laughed and shook his head for one final time, as if the answer to the question was obvious. The krogan, who was stickler for all things dramatic, said nothing, only allowing Garrus the biggest smile he could give and a customary wave as he rounded the corner to the mess hall. It did not take long for Garrus to find the answer, and when he found it, he could only help but pity Salivan more. Turning away and continuing his trek to the lounge, Garrus, thankful for the distraction that Abel and Salivan had brought, resisted the urge to turn his thoughts to Shepard or to his father, and instead, for the first time in a long time, thought of nothing but himself.


	2. Of Myths, Legends, and Their Validity

Chapter Two: Of Myths, Legends, and Their Validity

The lounge of the Normandy had been redesigned since the closing days of the war; as a gift from the galaxy for the ship's distinguished record and the crew who served with her. Now, geared much more towards style and comfort than function, the lounge room was a large open space area complete with a fully stocked bar, a pool table, and seating space, varying from plush chairs to couches, for up to twenty people. On the far wall was an aquarium with a few fish and a large seashell, which Garrus had taken the liberty of naming; calling it Mordin. If there was ever a more comforting place on an active vessel such as the Normandy, Garrus had yet to find it, and so it was with a significantly lighter but no less troubled heart, that the turian entered the room and found his place with Dar and Lokann at the bar.

Lokann had just finished pouring the drinks when Garrus arrived, Dar already indulging in his first chaser of the day. The volus, who apparently had an increase in alcoholic intake in the span of an hour, was busy rambling on about the scientific impossibility of half of what is accomplished daily throughout the galaxy, and thus could only be explained through divine intervention when Garrus approached the bar. Lokann, who had learned long ago to drown out Dar's speeches when inebriated could only shake his head and laugh at the volus' display.

"Garrus" Lokann began, turning his attention away from Dar, "We were going to wait for you but-"

Dar slammed down his empty glass and motioned for another, which Lokann, being sensible, denied him the luxury; causing Dar in turn to make an attempt for a bottle himself. Before he could follow through however Lokann, who in addition to being sensible was also observant, placed it under the counter out of reach. Still, despite this, the volus, almost comically, continued his efforts, his determination, which he normally possessed when operating on one of Abel's many "projects from hell" as he so often called them, carrying over into his drunkenness, making for a sad and pitiful display of a creature with incredibly short appendages forget his diminutiveness and the various ways to overcome it, as he suffered endlessly.

"But Dar convinced you to open the reserves again" Garrus continued, finished Lokann's sentence, "What line did he feed you this time?"

Lokann shook his head dismissively and gently put Dar back in his seat to the best of his ability.

"That's enough Dar" Lokann declared, his mind working on two problems at the same time, after which he turned to Garrus, "He fed me nothing, no subsistence of any kind, save for a pistol shoved against my temple."

Garrus, who by this point had reached the bar, leaned casually against it; his body opposite his face, which was stern and unforgiving. Dar, who was not yet drunk enough to lose all of his wits, felt Garrus' eyes upon him and faced the turian directly, his body shifting from side to side in the chair as he struggled to maintain balance.

"Your alcoholism is getting out of hand" Garrus said, berating, "I can't have you threatening crewmembers to fuel your habit. You're a technician Dar, one of the best I've ever seen, but I can't have you onboard if this is your behavior. It's a security risk."

Dar, who had been twiddling his thumbs since Lokann had returned him to his seat, looked up at Garrus with a somber stare, his eyes telling the story that words could not; behind them a lifetime of bad memories and things best left forgotten, feelings that Garrus understood all too well. Dar wanted to say that if given the chance to prove himself that he would be a valuable asset to the team, but he knew that it was a futile effort, for he had said this before and Garrus' generosity, as abundant as it was, had its limits. There was only one thing left in the galaxy that could convince Garrus to let him stay and it resided within the realm of the impossible.

"Have you heard of _Morning Star_?" Dar asked quietly, his voice broken and wheezed, as it was with all volus.

Garrus, slightly confused by Dar's response, for it made no sense in terms of the context of the situation, turned to Lokann for an explanation. The salarian, who was currently filling up a round of his specialty drink, one for himself and one for Garrus, stopped his work and reached down under the counter. Underneath the counter, which had three identical shelves, there was the standard glasses and drinks, but also a modified shotgun, which he always kept loaded; a cross necklace, which he received as a gift from one of his human colleagues on Omega; and a family portrait of himself, his wife, a human, and two daughters. Next to the portrait was a large book, _The Civilizations_ , a collection of the various histories of the known races in the galaxy, this particular one was the sixth volume, detailing the mysterious race of the hanar, Lokann's current field of study. Pulling out the book, Lokann scanned the table of contents until he found the subject of Culture.

"Listen to this" Lokann began, turning the book to Garrus, " _Morning Star_. A work of fiction, detailing the tribulations of a group of heroes; searching for a mystical door at the edge of the universe. Among their number, a hanar."

Garrus chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes, both at Dar, for making it sound as if Morning Star was something worth legitimacy, and at the fact of a hanar being heroic. It was almost the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, only right behind the Reapers and the krogan-turian treaty that resulted from them; disregarding that both had proven true, in the case of the Reapers as evidenced by the galactic devastation, and in the case of the treaty in fact that it was technically still enforced.

"Are you serious?" Garrus said, giving Dar a stare of complete disbelief, "You must really be drunk if you think a damned book is going to save you."

Dar nodded nervously as his anxiety increased and the possibility of expulsion grew greater by the second. Thinking as best as he was able, the volus returned to the last major topic he discussed with clarity and hoped that he would be able to maintain it long enough to prove his sincerity and sanity.

"But have you read it Commander?" Dar replied defensively, "It really is a gripping tale; beloved by all who read it. Heroes of various backgrounds and races striving for the same end; an order of knights and prophets, chosen to guide them on their quest to seek the ultimate answer to the ultimate question- what is the purpose of life?"

Lokann huffed and closed his book, for Dar's statement was little more than a synopsis of a novel, no real grounds of defensive for his behavior; which in a small way he had been a contributor. The salarian, who had many problems with volus but particularly with Dar, was also offended by Dar's so-called 'ultimate question', for the answer was an obvious one.

"The answer to your question is entirely subjective" Lokann declared, "With weight only given to the person it is directed to; it bears no universality whatsoever!"

Dar, if possessed with the capability to express emotion, would have smiled at Lokann's statement, if only because it only proved the paradox effect that the book so often produced. The volus would not deny, the salarian was correct, and it was for this reason that the message was universal. Dar, ignoring Lokann's remark directly, proceeded to his point and cemented his defense.

"There are some scholars who maintain that the events actually happened; that the Door exists. I know of one, a raloi, calls himself Malachi. On the Citadel; in the theater district."

The mentioning of raloi caused both concern and the appearance of red flags, for it was often speculated that the avian species had died out in the Reaper War; their cunning trickery and last fail-safe against the Reapers a dismal failure, their entire civilization, almost as long and as storied as that of the krogan, decimated.

"Are you sure?" Garrus said, pressing, "Raloi haven't been seen on the Citadel since the war. Their civilization- gone. Ancient history."

Dar shook his head and turned to Lokann, the volus placing a firm hand on the counter to serve as support.

"Lokann" the volus replied, "You know I'm right. There's no way they're gone; they were too small in numbers even before they left the Citadel to even be noticed by the Reapers."

Lokann, who was detecting any falsehoods or possible deception in Dar's half-pickled mind, found no reason not to believe him. According to his books, as well as his own personal theories and observations on the raloi, there was no reason for the entire race to befall the fate of the batarians; especially when one considered their extreme countermeasure to foreign invasion. True, the possibility still existed, and was likely, that the Reapers still managed to attack raloi colonies, what few colonies they managed to have; but it defied all logic and reason to say that the race had been erased from the galaxy.

"It is possible" Lokann defended, glancing at Garrus, "However, incredibly unlikely that this Malachi made it to the Citadel on his own- likely had help."

Dar shoved Lokann innocently, being a playful drunk, and haphazardly attempted once again to reach for a nonexistent bottle which he drank anyway causing Lokann and Garrus to laugh to themselves at an obvious attempt at what could only be low-brow humor from drunk Dar.

"Who do you think helped him?" Dar replied, nodding in agreement as he confirmed Lokann's analysis, "I pulled a few strings together for the raloi. While the turians and krogan were off saving the humans from extinction, I was working to save the raloi. I lead 100 volus clan to Turvess-"

Garrus immediately remembered the severe restriction that had been placed on Turvess, the raloi homeworld, which specifically forbade any ship from making surface contact in order to protect from the various diseases that the raloi undoubtedly carried; the species themselves, much like the quarians, forced to wear bio-suits in order to survive and interact with other species. The commander decided to keep these thoughts to himself in favor of listening to Dar; as did Lokann, who was thinking the same, in order to separate fact from fiction and evidence of legitimacy.

"Damn the Council and their codes" Dar continued, his voice full of fire and sudden zeal, one of the many reasons that Garrus brought him aboard, for if it was one thing that the volus knew how to do well besides being a technician, it was how to make a speech, "The raloi deserve just as much of a chance as anyone else. Was it a risk? Sure. Did most of my men die? Yes; but they knew the risks going in, every one of them. They died proud to serve, as heroes. The volus clan of all people! The saviors of the raloi race! Not the turians; not the krogan; nor the asari, but the volus!"

Garrus folded his arms and sighed, in his head going through all the different reasons that Dar had come up with to avoid talking about his cowardice, for despite his claims of heroism there was one fatal loophole in his argument, one that Garrus could not ignore.

"So you decided that instead of fighting in the war against the greatest threat to the galaxy to go play hero to a race that was virtually undetectable to the Reapers to begin with! And on top of that got your men killed, men we could have used to end the war sooner and save trillions!"

It was painful, Garrus thought, to say the words aloud, for it confirmed something that he already knew; had they been more prepared, and gathered all of the galaxy, regardless of political or societal differences, that there was a chance that Shepard would still be alive and still be in command of the Normandy. It was a thought that saddened him so much that all the anger that he had towards Dar he began to turn onto himself and wallow in internal self-pity; this Garrus did not show, for it was unseemly of an officer of his station, and given the context of the situation, out of character. Instead, Garrus simply closed his eyes and breathed.

"I'm sorry" Garrus continued, apologizing, "You're right; no one deserves the Reapers. Go on."

The volus gave the turian a slightly confused look, for he saw no real point in continuing his tale, especially since the main point had already been made- the volus, who were normally not very heroic, were for a fleeting moment, heroes in the eyes of another species. Dar turned to Lokann, as if looking for an explanation for Garrus' behavior, the salarian often serving as an in-between for the other two, before finding himself back at Garrus after getting nothing; Lokann remaining completely neutral, preferring to observe the interaction.

"The raloi _are_ back Garrus" Dar declared, "And one of them holds the answers you seek. The answers we all seek. Isn't that worth at least investigating? If nothing else for the hope."

Hope; that was the key word. It was hope that had brought them all, in one way or another, to this point in time. Hope had seen them through the insurrections and the riots; through the assassination attempts, both on Garrus and his crew; through the aid relief efforts and political reconstruction; and through the war that gave birth to all of it. Hope was the reason why the Normandy was a symbol, not just for humanity but for all races, that anything was possible as long as you possessed it. It was the guiding principle and the last teaching of Commander Shepard, and in this moment, in the Normandy lounge, it became the reason for living.

Garrus, at the mention of hope, was reminded of something that Shepard had said to him once, in the confines of the captain's cabin, hours before the final stages of the War. She had said that without hope, life had no meaning; that at the end of the day, hope was all that anyone had. At the time Garrus thought that it was a nice, but unrealistic sentiment, too lost in idealism to be of any real use. Now however, the meaning of these words came back to haunt him with only one possible addendum: Without hope life has no meaning, without life there is no hope, but without love there is no life.

"Congratulations Dar" Garrus replied as he stood up, at the same time denying Lokann's drink, "You just bought yourself another week."

The volus, understandably, began to shake and rattle with excitement as feelings of success and vindication washed over him with an uncontrollable force. Garrus made no attempt to stop him, finding it quite humorous that Dar had been reduced to the intellectual capacity of a puppy with the uttering of a single sentence, as if it were inconceivable that he was in fact, a bomb technician. Lokann on the other hand, could only stand beside himself, seeing no reason as to why Dar should not be court-martialed, and promptly followed Garrus out of the room.

"Are you kidding me?" Lokann exclaimed, "You actually believe him! He's a drunk; and brilliant as he is you know he'll say anything he needs to in order to stay here and be close to drink."

Garrus, who by this point was back at Abel's door, the lounge being an extremely short distance from it, did a coy half turn and cracked what Lokann could assume to be an overconfident smile as he gently patted his shoulder.

"What choice do we have Lokann?" Garrus replied rhetorically, "Besides, it could be fun."

Lokann nodded slowly and shoved Garrus' hand off as promptly as he could, disgusted by the sudden bipolar change in the turian's behavior, for no one in their right mind would condemn a man's belief only to automatically support them, or at the very least, tinge on the idea, in the seconds it took Garrus to travel from the bar to the hallway.

"Is there something I should know Garrus?" Lokann began, worry laden in his voice, "Because you're starting to scare me."

Garrus blinked for a moment and then shook his head, the fire and light that had emerged in his eyes retreating, as his body brought his mind back to reality and the current way of things.

"Sorry" Garrus returned, slouching, "Just reminiscing on old times-"

"Ancient history?" Lokann said, the salarian a master of guessing people's sentence and the appropriate finishing line, a trick he had picked up from one of his daughters.

Garrus nodded solemnly and began to walk away; it was only in this moment did he remember EDI and that technically speaking Lokann had wanted to speak him with directly about something and that, given Dar's drunkenness, such a conversation never happened. Before the turian could even bother asking anything in the form of a question Lokann had beaten him with a return.

"Do you really want to hear about the hanar reproductive system?" Lokann exclaimed with all the sternness in the world, "Because let me tell you out of all the benefits of a researcher-sociologist-historian that knowledge is certainly not among them."

The salarian, after a moment or two of silence, managed a smile that matched Garrus' earlier coyness; a trait uncommon in salarians which Lokann had picked up, once again, from his daughters, which caused Garrus to laugh in his own turn, not even caring that he did not know the reason behind it as well as confirming, at least in part, why Lokann had been brought onto the Normandy. While his knowledge was invaluable to the team and its various missions, it was in large part his unusual personality, as well as his disassociation with Commander Shepard, that made Lokann an obvious candidate for the unofficial male confidant for issues in which Liara, Traynor, or Williams were not enough, to say nothing of Joker. In a strange way Lokann reminded Garrus of Mordin Solus; but whereas Mordin lacked basic social skills Lokann had them in an overabundance. It also helped that Lokann was slightly younger, matching Garrus' soul, if not his body, which only made communication, and a strong sense of kinship, easier to comprehend.

"Don't ever change Lokann" Garrus declared, "Promise me that."

Lokann shook his head and rolled his eyes knowing that Garrus' request was an impossible one, being a realist.

"Can't do that Garrus" Lokann replied, "But I can promise you this: I'll always be there for you."

Garrus, appreciating the sentiment, embraced the salarian as tightly as he dared, knowing in his heart that the words spoken were true, after which Garrus turned away and returned to the elevator, leaving Lokann to tend to his bar and to Dar. In the minutes that followed, Garrus, now on the command deck and surrounded by crew- Traynor at her console; Liara going over inventory with Ashley; and EDI running ship diagnostics- finally had time to process everything that had happened in the last hour and a half. As the Normandy reached the Citadel and proceeded to the docking bay, Garrus opened his terminal and searched through his messages, at the top of the message list, a letter from his father. He did not read it, he did not want to read it, for it would only bring up a lifetime of memories that he did not wish to relive; instead he closed the message board and began searching for information on Malachi, if only to see if Dar was to be believed.


	3. The Primarch

Chapter Three: The Primarch

Adrien Victus was not particularly keen on the idea of staying at the Citadel. He would rather be on Palaven serving his people by assisting in the clean-up crews. Instead, he was busy entertaining the Council, who had decided that his presence was essential to a conference on the improvement of inter-species relations. Adrien, who had no interest in such matters, did not care about the asari, who were seeking diplomatic asylum; the drell, nearly to near extinction by the Reapers, seeking compensation for their sacrifices; the quarians, their formal instatement into Citadel life; or the hanar, who only seemed to be at the conference to spew their propaganda about the Enkindlers, despite having a valid reason for attendance. The only thing that Adrien cared about at the moment was the assassination attempt that had just been made on his life.

The assailant, who lay dead ten feet behind him, was a batarian, one of the last Adrien suspected, who was distressed about the lack of support that his people had received during the war. The turian had no current suspicion as to why he would be the primary target given the subject's sentiments, for Adrien had very little to do with the matter, and thus brushed off the idea of personal motive, which only left political or economic gain, two factors that at the given the current state of the galaxy, seemed a fool's errand at best. Adrien's bodyguard, Cassius, a turian, casually shouldered his weapon, an old thermal carbine that he had inherited from his father, and stared at the body of the dead batarian, kicking it in the process. Unceremoniously spitting on the body, Cassius put all of his weight on the cadaver's head with the full intention of crushing it; but since he lacked the physical strength to perform such a feat, possessing a more agile frame than that of a brute, only managed to cause little more than a small cranial collapse.

"Have some decency Cassius" Adrien declared, shaking his head, slightly annoyed, "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Cassius nodded and swallowed air as nervousness entered his heart, for Adrien's tone carried more than mere annoyance.

"Forgive me Primarch" Cassius returned apologetically as he slowly made his way over, "I was merely checking to make sure he was properly deceased."

Adrien turned around and shook his head once more, this time with much more levity as a smile, or at the very least a small crack of a smile, formed on his face.

"You shot him once with a ballistic round and then two times after that, all three in the chest. If you're too stupid to tell the difference between a dead body and an alive one than I might as well fire you right now and get myself a more competent bodyguard. One that can kill with one shot, one time, every time."

Cassius, despite Adrien's lightheartedness, still sensed apprehension, as if he was annoyed that his life had been saved. The turian did not want to air his concerns, in the event that he was wrong, thus said the wrong thing resulting in his immediate termination, but that did not mean that Cassius harbored them regardless. Adrien, for his part, carried on with his business, turning back to his original position and en-route to his destination. Cassius, deciding that his duties as the Primarch's bodyguard were not concluded, followed closely.

The Primarch and his guard made their way back inside, for they were standing on the balcony of a hotel, and began gathering their belongings; in less than thirty minutes he would have to be in front of the Council, sorting through the details of their pointless conference. If it was one thing that he did not have time for it was being assassinated. Cassius- who had enough sense to cooperate with C-Sec authorities, especially when it involved Adrien- motioned for the nearest officer and began collecting her statements, after which he dismissed her and then nonchalantly produced a cigarette from his back pocket.

"Another successful day" Cassius exclaimed, mostly talking to and congratulating himself in his efforts.

"You know I could have stopped him Cassius" Adrien said, taking on a defensive position, Cassius' remark releasing his inner thoughts.

"Sure" Cassius retorted, "But you didn't old man; I did."

Adrien was not in the mood to be told that he was getting on years; especially when it wasn't entirely true. General Corinthus was the only turian that he knew of that was still technically in active service and considered old; as far as politicians were concerned he was fifteen years Councilor Sparatus' junior. Still, the thought of being called old brought back memories of his son, who often jokingly referred to him as "the old man", as most sons often did. Adrien's one solace, his last place of solitude, existed only in his mind; taking the form of Tarquin. The Primarch did not need to wonder what it was he would say if he had the ability to stand in Tarquin's presence, for he said it every day despite the fact that he was alone. The prospect of these words, which constantly rang in a loop in his head, triggered another, more personal thought, that of his wife, whom he had not had a real conversation with since the end of the war.

In the corner of the room there were two more bodyguards, one a turian and one a quarian. The turian, Percival, was from Adrien's former military unit, easily among his closest group of friends save for the crew of the Normandy; the quarian, Nostra, a former captain. Both of them were discussing the details of the assassination attempt, specifically, why it was that Cassius, who was a relatively recent member of Adrien's entourage, had the honor of disposing him.

"What right does he have-" Percival began, allowing his thoughts to escape, "saving the Primarch? He's only been here a few weeks. Do you think it was planned somehow?"

Nostra shrugged in innocence, posing no knowledge or opinion on such issues. The only thing that the quarian could rely on was his past experience as a captain, which told him that such things as planned assassinations, which was to say assisted suicide, was one of the many signs of weakness in leadership and for the many words that were used to describe Adrien Victus "weak" was not among them.

"Unlikely" Nostra replied, "Assisted suicide would break your people's so-called honor code. Besides that, it's cowardly."

Percival, who could not help but agree, still harbored his own suspicions.

"Still" Percival continued, "Grief can make a man do desperate things."

Nostra stalled, catching Percival's tone, as if he were reminiscing something sad or tragic; he hoped that it was something outside of the war, but such hopes were futile, for most things sad and tragic were of some consequence to the war.

"What do you mean?" Nostra asked, his voice tainted with worry and concern, only to be received with pity from Percival, who resented answering him further; honor, if only, being the cause of the response.

"You don't know?" Percival said after taking a moment for himself, "The Primarch's son, Tarquin Victus, was killed in action on Tuchanka disabling a Cerberus bomb. Commander Shepard was with him when it happened. Since then Adrien's had to put on a brave face for us, to see us through the war. Now, I don't know how much more he can take."

Nostra, at this, immediately took a defensive stance, mostly out of surprise that such statements were coming from Percival, seemingly Adrien's closest ally, and not himself. It was strange, the quarian thought, that he had such loyalty, for it was atypical of his species to trust and follow others so openly. Perhaps it was due to the sympathetic nature of the war, in which great tragedy brought out the humanity, to use the word positively; or perhaps it was due to the understood importance of a homeworld, the quarians having so recently regained their own, that made Nostra take the stance he did. Nostra would never know, for he would never bother to ask himself the question, mostly because he deemed it unnecessary. The Primarch was his friend just as Percival was his friend, and if it was one thing that Nostra held above everything else, including honor, it was the bonds he had forged.

"You think he wanted to die?" Nostra pressed, "That he set up his own assassination and that Cassius was just lucky enough to stop it? What about his wife? The Primarch would never leave her alone, especially after his son's death. The very idea is insulting; you should be ashamed."

Percival stood in a reverent silence for several seconds, pondering the weight of Nostra's words, after which he began laughing. It was amazing to him how a quarian, whom he had barely known and who knew so little of the Primarch, could see what he himself, a respected member of turian society, could not.

"Are you sure you aren't a turian underneath that helmet of yours?" Percival exclaimed jokingly, laughing at the same time, Nostra's response being a simple denial and a gesture towards the middle of the room, bidding communion with the others.

Adrien and Cassius, who had just finished packing what few belongings they possessed, were waiting by the door when Percival and Nostra joined them. Upon their approach, Adrien noticed that the staleness which had dominated the air with Cassius had dissipated, in its place a strange coolness, as if the spirits themselves were trying to send him a message of great importance. Turning to the newcomers, Adrien motioned to his left and right respectively, after which they took their positions with Cassius bringing up the rear. It was then that the air became stale and dry once more, Adrien, at the moment being incredibly superstitious, and understandably so given the assassination attempt, listened to the small voice inside his head and reconfigured his guards- Percival taking the rear position and Cassius on the left flank, which coincidentally, was Adrien's prime hand.

Walking out of the suite and heading for the nearest rapid transit station, Adrien and his company passed by a series of small high-end stores, some of them recent arrivals to the Citadel hoping to profit on the current galactic situation, and others mainstays, all of them having the sole common them of being operated by turians. Adrien, for his part, found this incredibly hypocritical, seeing as he was heading towards a conference meant to deal with inter-species relations, but said nothing of it; rationalizing that the Council, at least on some level, had his best interests at heart. Still, the thought was discomforting, for it meant that there was still a degree of prejudice against aliens, and not on the part of humans alone, for such things were common sentiments were common among all peoples- one only had to look at the thousand-year rift between the turians and krogan as evidence. In order for the conference to have any chance of success, for long lasting change to be possible, such policies and attitudes, like segregated sections of the Citadel, needed to be addressed.

 _"This place isn't perfect"_ Adrien thought to himself, _"But there is still some good in it. There has to be, else why would they continue to live as they do- day by day?"_

They passed on, ignoring the faces of the merchants huddled within, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and worry; the certainty of the future, much like the success of the conference, an unclear one, full of doubt and the promise of pain. Adrien, who did manage to glance at the face of one of them, a female, had but one singular idea as he moved silently along, to take all the pain and doubt and cleanse it; but since he was not divine, merely a good man, there was little that he could do at the moment and so he did the only thing he could and prayed. Percival and Nostra, who had the luxury of hearing Adrien's prayer, the Primarch making no secret of his action, joined him as best they could, throwing in a few words for their own concerns. Cassius remained silent, being atheistic, and merely continued to usher and protect Adrien's backside.

By the time that Adrien had made his way to the transit station, Councilor Sparatus was waiting for him, hoping to properly debrief the Primarch on the current situation; next to him was a boy, one of the duct rats, orphans left to crawl in the airways of the Citadel, stealing scrap and food in order to survive.

"Boy" Sparatus exclaimed, his voice stern yet nonthreatening, "Go, do as I instructed and you shall receive your reward, 50 credits."

The duct rat nodded and sped off as fast as his legs could run, Sparatus watched as he disappeared into a hole in the ground and casually shook his head as a wave of pity, small and brief, washed over him. Just as he was about to turn his mind to his existentialist side and ponder the meaning of existence, as he had heard about a pigeon once doing, his brain was cut short by Adrien's approach.

"Councilor" Adrien began, being prompt, "What brings you to me? Something I should know?"

Sparatus nodded indignantly, as if he hated the words he was about to say, still, say them he did regardless.

"Someone told me that you were going to use Garrus Vakarian as a model for today's discussion" Sparatus exclaimed, "Is that true?"

Adrien nodded, seeing no point in hiding his intentions, especially since he had been nothing but candid with the Council as far as the matter was concerned. In his opinion, Garrus was a model example of inter-species relations given his relationship with Commander Shepard; Adrien seeing it as a message of hope and unity, a message that many throughout the galaxy desperately needed.

"Yes" Adrien answered, being blunt, "Why? Is that a problem?"

Sparatus, who equally good at being honest with people, nodded in succession, for unfortunately it had indeed become a problem, one of great galactic concern.

"There are few who feel that the mention of that relationship will be in bad form" Sparatus declared, "Especially with Shepard's passing and no word from Vakarian or his approval-"

Adrien rolled his eyes, displaying his annoyance, for although he understood Sparatus' words he did not understand the reasoning behind them. It was enough to almost make him use his power and influence, which was now considerable, to make Sparatus see things from his position; but he did not, being a man of restraint and dignity.

"I have Garrus' approval" Adrien interjected, cutting Sparatus off, "I contacted him last week."

The Councilor, who had better things to do than pry Adrien for direct answers, remained silent, hoping that it would enough to get his point of urgency across; it was. Still, despite this, Adrien said nothing, wanting to hear the Councilor's reply in order to give his next few words weight and strengthen his argument.

"Well what did he say?" Sparatus said, almost demanding, such was the state of his preoccupied mind.

"He said it was an honor!" Adrien exclaimed, his voice stressed and heightened in order to provide greater emphasis, "He said and I quote: "If it can give people hope than I consider it a great honor. Let her name go down one last time as the human who loved so much, so indiscriminately, that out of all the hearts she could have picked to steal, that she chose a turian's" end quote."

Sparatus shook his head and sighed, for it was obvious that Adrien had embellished a bit. The Councilor turned to Adrien's bodyguards, who stood beside themselves in partial bewilderment and stifled laughter, save for Cassius, who remained stoic, only to return back to Adrien, his face one of a man who had not slept in weeks and when he did manage to find it was constantly hounded by nightmares.

"Are you okay Adrien?" Sparatus said worriedly, "You seem off-kilter; is there something I should know?"

Cassius jumped in at this point, seeing as how Percival and Nostra were essentially useless at this point, and Adrien was half frozen, the Primarch's brain thinking of what had just transpired and the lunacy of it all; while his heart cheered him on, begging that he continue.

"Forgive him sir" Cassius said, answering him and bringing himself to Sparatus' attention, "The Primarch has just survived an assassination attempt. He hasn't really been himself since Tarquin."

Sparatus' gaze turned to Adrien, who, along with Percival and Nostra, recovered from their episode, each man standing beside himself for a different reason- Adrien, out of embarrassment, ashamed at his own grieving heart for getting in the way of his brain; Percival, feeling the sting of disappointment from Sparatus despite the Councilor not looking at him directly, for not defending his master sooner; Nostra, awkwardness, the sudden awareness of being the only quarian among turians settling in, and the unspoken stigma, at least on the part of Sparatus, whom he did not know, and Cassius, whom he knew held such sympathies, shining on him like a spotlight on a stage. Despite these feelings, it only lasted for a moment, especially on the part of Percival, who at the sound of Cassius' voice, was roused into action, forgoing his own pride and dignity in favor of preserving Adrien's.

"That's not fair" Percival declared suddenly, speaking both to Cassius and to Sparatus, mostly to the former, "How can you make that claim when we've all lost someone to this godforsaken war? No one is themselves, especially when they're grieving. Not to mention being the Primarch and the weight it carries; the stress in peace time is enough to kill most people, to say nothing of times of war."

Cassius sneered and huffed, guessing that Percival would be the first to speak against him, for it was almost always the case.

"Regardless" Cassius continued, "It is obvious that the Primarch is unwell. That rambling you heard is a clear sign of his mental instability, the result of which is lifetime of hollow victories and carelessness unbecoming of an officer- or a Primarch."

It was at this point that all oxygen had left the area, in its place a cold, dead silence suitable for the vacuum of space, Cassius' words cutting through all the hearts that were present to the deepest possible levels, at the same time revealing his true nature and sympathies. Just as Percival and Nostra were about to react accordingly, by dropping him dead, Adrien held his hand, bidding for peace.

"Stay your weapons" Adrien ordered, "I'm done letting others fight my battles for me-"

Adrien then turned his attention to Cassius, his eyes becoming stony as they fixated on a single point; from an outsider's perspective it looked as if Adrien was staring at Cassius' forehead. The reality was simpler than that.

"If you have something to say Cassius" Adrien declared, "Best say it, or better yet, if I'm as weak and broken as you say, take that gun of yours and end it."

Cassius shrugged, obliging Adrien's suggestion, and pointed his side-arm at Adrien's head. He smiled, reveling in the moment that was about to transpire, as if his entire life had led up to this single moment in time, this one action.

"Any last words Primarch?" Cassius exclaimed, "Or should we get right down to the execution?"

Adrien nodded and sighed, closing his eyes, a small subtle laugh escaping, as if he had an epiphany.

"Why did you do it Cassius?" Adrien replied, asking a rhetorical question, for he already knew the answer "If you wanted me dead why didn't you let the assassin take care of it? Save you the trouble?"

Cassius howled, he behavior transcending beyond that of a turian and taking on qualities of a dog, a mindless and feral animal.

"Because I know you Primarch" Cassius answered defiantly, "I know what you're planning to do, what you're proposing to the Council. This inter-species bullshit doesn't make turians stronger, it makes us weak! Bonding with them is a death sentence, and I'll be damned if I see my race fall because of some parasite lovers! As for that batarian, he was expendable, just like you."

Adrien smiled and nodded again, for that was the answer that he expected, if only because he had heard it a hundred thousand times before. Relaxing his body and rolling his neck, making himself be as comfortable as possible Adrien Victus stood his ground and waited.

"Go ahead" Adrien exclaimed, his voice calm, almost to the point of endearment, "Do what you came for; my guards will not stop you, neither will the Councilor."

Cassius laughed in disbelief and shook his head pitifully, for he was not stupid. He knew that there was only one way of this scenario if he pulled the trigger, and it was not an honorable way for a turian to die; still, seeing no other way, Cassius steadied himself and took aim.

"Goodbye Adrien" Cassius said, "May the spirits guide you."

It was at this moment that many things happened simultaneously. first, Cassius fired his gun, the projectile exiting the barrel and heading towards Adrien's head; secondly, another bullet, fired from the barrel of a sniper rifle, careening towards Cassius, having been fired a few seconds before; third, a force field emitted around the space, encompassing Adrien, the Councilor, and the two bodyguards; and finally, time itself, in all its fluid and incomprehensible ways, slowed down for half a millisecond. By the time the millisecond was over, Cassius' bullet had deflected off the shield, Cassius himself lay dead, and the Primarch and his friends remained completely unscathed.

Sparatus and the bodyguards looked around for any sign of what had just happened, everything moving so fast that it was almost impossible to believe. They would have remained unbelievers had it not been for the emergence of Salivan, who had been hiding around a nearby corner; Lokann, who were perched on a nearby balcony, a pair of binoculars around his neck; and moments later, Garrus Vakarian, a smoking sniper rifle in his left hand.

"Looks like you could use some help Primarch" Garrus said laughing to ease the tension, something that he was incredibly good at.

"Garrus how many times do I have to tell you to call me Adrien" The Primarch replied, brushing him off, "As for the help, well, I'd never turn down the offer."

Garrus laughed in his own turn, this time with much more levity as he shouldered his weapon and stretched his arms for an embrace, which was graciously accepted. Salivan and Lokann, for their part, took to examining Percival and Nostra, trying to judge the potential of the bodyguards to perform their duties.

"What do you think, could they have handled it?" Salivan asked, searching for Lokann's opinion.

Lokann casually stepped forward and stared at each of them, the bodyguards themselves more surprised than confused, unsure of what it was that should be said, if anything, to be of any real use at the moment.

"The possibility is there" Lokann declared, "Not much granted, but it is there."

Salivan huffed and chuckled to himself, finding irony in the statement.

"So says the salarian who hasn't fired a gun a day in his life?" the turian continued, "What in the hell do you know about potential?"

Lokann turned, for now he and the bodyguards' positions were switched, the salarian being the confused one and the bodyguards taking an inquisitive observation approach.

"You asked for my opinion yes?" Lokann defended, "Well then, there you have it. I gave you my opinion, now I expect you to-"

While Lokann and Salivan were having an argument that was a continuation of an earlier discussion, Garrus, Adrien and Sparatus were talking of the luck of Garrus' arrival.

"I had heard that you were coming back to give your report on the Terminus Systems" Adrien began, taking the initiative, "When I discovered the plot against me, it seemed like the logical thing to do."

Garrus nodded in agreement, for Adrien was too valuable, both as a friend and as a political asset, to lose to an assassination.

"What does it make now?" Garrus said, still joking, "Four or five times that I've saved your life?"

Adrien brushed him off as a cad and shook his head, for he had long lost count on that particular score. According to his last count he had saved Garrus' life exactly seven times, whereas Garrus had only saved his six; now, if his math was correct, they were even, completely tied in the never-ending competition so often had among military men.

"Seven" Adrien corrected, "You're getting slow Garrus, should I be worried?"

"The only time you should be worried is when I run out of bullets Adrien" Garrus returned, "And I never run out of bullets."

Adrien laughed once more, only to be cut off by Sparatus, who despite loving a reunion as much as the next man, was incredibly anxious to return to business and the matter at hand. Clearing his throat, the councilor casually motioned for Garrus and Adrien to follow, which they did; when they were out of hearing range of the others, Sparatus began to speak openly.

"Garrus I'm going to be honest with you, I'm not a fan of your inclusion in Adrien's case. It's disrespectful to Shepard's memory. Not to mention the backlash you will receive from the community."

Garrus folded his arms and planted his feet firmly on the ground, his position clear.

"Damn the community and damn your politics" Garrus exclaimed, defensively, "As long as it gives people hope I don't care who knows about it. Let them talk."

Sparatus glanced at Adrien, who only smiled, as if a sudden wave of vindication had come over him that before had been denied; perhaps the sudden absence of Cassius or the simplification of Garrus' words had caused it, but it made little difference, for it was the first time that Adrien had smiled of his own accord in days; not as show of good grace or public decency but of genuine happiness, a happiness he had not felt in a long time. Sparatus, in a last ditch attempt of dissuasion, attempted reason, this time with Garrus.

"Your father is well respected" Sparatus continued, his voice carrying all the weight he could muster in the moment, "He's also a traditionalist-"

Garrus relaxed and shook his head indifferently, pitying the councilor and the position that he was in, for it would do him no good to tell him of things that he himself already knew.

"You're talking to a brick wall Councilor" Garrus declared, cutting off Sparatus for the second time that day, "I know what my father is like; if he found out he would be adamantly opposed. But what does it matter now? Shepard's dead. Nothing can change that."

Garrus, on the inside, allowed himself a small congratulatory pat on the back, for he did not bother, nor did he plan to, tell Sparatus about Malachi or the legend of the Door; much preferring to wait until such things were either confirmed one way or the other. Adrien Victus was another matter entirely, but at least with the Primarch, Garrus was willing to disclose information, personal or otherwise.

"Then you see my point" Sparatus replied, asserting himself, as well as incorrectly interpreting Garrus' words to suit his own needs, "Nothing can change what happened. Commander Shepard has been honored at your request; let her rest Garrus. She's done enough. You've done enough."

Sparatus turned away, before he could leave however Adrien stopped him in his tracks, the Primarch following up with the bravest words he ever uttered up to that point.

"You honor Garrus' wishes or I resign Sparatus."

The Councilor slowly rotated, his left foot pivoting, his brain unable to convince it to move with the rest of his body, such was his surprise at the decree. With a stern face, Sparatus sighed and once more, futility, tried reason, lacking the proper means to use force.

"Adrien" Sparatus began, "Be reasonable. You're the Primarch, if you resign, who will lead the people?"

Adrien shrugged indifferently, refusing to giving Sparatus a straight answer.

"I never wanted to be Primarch in the first place" Adrien returned, a certain degree of venom in his voice, "I wanted to be with my men, I wanted to be with my wife, with my son. This damn war took them from me- my son is dead; and my wife, I haven't seen my wife in months Sparatus."

Adrien moved closer, hoping that by moving his point would be driven home, the councilor remaining motionless and mute.

"I beg of you, find someone else. Take this position from me Councilor, let me go home to my wife. That or, grant this man his request. Honor him. Spirits know he deserves it, least of all from you."

Sparatus, who at this point rationalized that arguing further with either of them was a pointless waste of time, finally relented and gave in to Adrien's demands.

"Alright Victus you win" Sparatus said, his voice worn and tired, already weary from the morning deliberation, "I'll honor your motion, Commander Shepard and Garrus will be used as a case for the inter-species issues; and you can take your leave from the Citadel. Your duties as Primarch will be temporarily handed over to someone capable to allow for- recreational activities."

With this Sparatus finally took his leave, heading for the transit car. As for Adrien and Garrus, each breathed a sigh of relief for different reasons. Lokann and Salivan, who by that point had, at the very least, temporarily settled their squabble, along with Percival and Nostra, made their over to their superiors.

"So what really brought you to the Citadel Garrus?" Adrien asked as he moved forward, allowing his bodyguards, who were now extra alert, to take their positions, "I take it you didn't come here to send in your report and save my life."

Garrus laughed, for a moment wishing that it was as simple as Adrien made it out to believe; alas, it was not the case.

"I'm looking for someone" Garrus explained, "A raloi named Malachi. I'm supposed to be meeting with him in the theater district."

Adrien slowly processed Garrus' words and turned to his bodyguards, they seemed to harbor no hint of objection.

"Mind if we join you?" Adrien asked, following up, "It'll be a nice change of scenery and hopefully with less death."

Before Lokann could mention the fact that an hanar version of _Othello_ was playing at the theater he was quickly shut up by Garrus, who by sheer coincidence, also knew of the play and the great irony it represented. If nothing else on the hope that the next place would be more welcoming, as well as the hope of Dar's legend, Garrus welcomed Adrien and his guards to accompany them, just as a cleanup crew began sweeping Cassius' body into the nearest disposal bin.


End file.
